#9daysofsense8

He leans on the balcony railing, smoking his cigarette, ignoring the frigid droplets pattering against his naked skin. It’s a curse. As soon as the sun rises in the east, no matter what he’s been up to the night before, he’s awake with the dawn. It’s a stereotypical German thing, really. Frühe-auf-fucking-wachen. A whole nation trained to believe from when they were in the womb that you could lack every virtue in the world - could be a murderer or a mobster or a politician - but no matter who you are, your ass better be up with the cock’s-crow.

He glances reflexively over his shoulder, trying to see her through the fogged window pane of the balcony doors. He’d closed it when he stepped outside earlier - she hates the smell of cigarette smoke inside. And she most definitely doesn’t have the same problems with sleeping in late that he does. Elephants could stampede through the hotel they were staying in and they still wouldn’t be enough to wake her.

This is all her idea. She claims she wants to see Berlin, wants to understand his city. She’s in his head, in his memories, in his soul but she says it isn’t the same. She wants to experience Berlin for herself. But he knows she’s not being entirely truthful. He suspects her real reason for dragging them here - she knows he misses it - he can’t hide that from her. So she’s cooked up this excuse to get them here. Says they’re safe now, with Lila gone, with the new identities she arranged to have made, courtesy of Nomi’s tech magic. She begged him to do it for her, but they both know it’s really for him. He wants to see his city again. He wants to see Felix. The key shop. And he loves her for that.

So he thinks about her reaction as they walk down Unter den Linden to the Brandenburg Gate. He wonders what she will say if he brings her to the remains of the Wall. The first club he and Felix went to (under-aged, of course). The tiger enclosure at the Tiergarten where his mother took him, though it has since been remodeled. The Schlüsselfachgeschäft. Felix. All the scattered pieces of his upbringing, wrapped in cool rain and presented to her as an invitation. This is Berlin. These are my people. They will be yours too.

Her blurred outline through the window isn’t enough for him. He flicks the cigarette away as he steps through the door, careful that it not creak as he opens it to let himself inside. She is sprawled out on the bed as if she doesn’t have to share it with anyone, the blankets tangled around her legs. She’s a mess to sleep next to - a bed and blanket hogger. It’s a good thing that sleep is usually the last thing on his mind when they go to bed.

He crawls over the mattress, his sinking weight still insufficient to wake her until he is hovering over her. Her eyes flutter open - enormous, dark brown, and luminous even when bleary with sleep. She smiles - that same smile she always gives him as if she is just seeing him for the first time in a long while, though she now sleeps by his side each night.  He doesn’t let her speak but covers her mouth with a kiss before bringing his lips to her ear. He whispers a few sentences, watching her eyes widen.

“My god, that is the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.” she says before she wraps her arms around his shoulder and pulls him down onto her. “You are a demon! Is that how you wish me a good morning?”

“It’s raining. You don’t want to go outside and get wet,” he says, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses over her shoulder.

“It’s always raining in Berlin,” she retorts, shoving him gently away from her. “And anyway, we have places to be.  You’ll not be wasting these days in bed, will you?”

“They wouldn’t be a waste,” he says but pushes off anyway. She’s right. He wants what he wants but what he really needs is to see his friend, show Kala what makes this place special, maybe make a second home for them here, eventually. They can’t go to Mumbai for now. Her ex-husband’s family were clear that they weren’t going to make it easy for her to come back. And her own family - they still need a little persuading that getting a divorce to be with a German ex-mobster isn’t the biggest mistake of her life. In some ways, he’d taken Bombay from her.

But they have Paris. And with some luck, Berlin could be theirs too.

As she swings her legs over the side to get ready, he catches her by the wrist. “By the way, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he indicates the room, the heavy, grey clouds, the sound of a polizei siren in the distance.   

She sits down on the mattress again, running her pretty fingers through his hair. “You would do it for me too, if you could.” She drops her hand to take his, tugging gently so that he might rise with her.